


The Valley of the Shadow of Death

by Rogue_Panda



Category: Cabin Pressure, Vicar of Dibley
Genre: Crossover, Depression, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Gen Work, Grief/Mourning, Minor Character Death, Psalm 23, Religious Content, Tea and Sympathy, canon compliant to The Vicar in White, canon compliant to Yverdon-les-Bains
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-29
Updated: 2014-07-29
Packaged: 2018-02-10 23:05:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2043648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rogue_Panda/pseuds/Rogue_Panda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Martin had hazy memories of that day, but for the rest of his life, he remembered that nothing had seemed as important as un-deleting the voicemail from his mother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Valley of the Shadow of Death

I SHALL NOT WANT

‘Post landing checks complete,’ Douglas said, and he arched his back with a gusty sigh.

Martin smiled and peered out of the cockpit window at the hangar Carolyn had rented. She would keep them busy in the next two weeks, running charter flights from their current location to Melbourne to Auckland to Singapore to Perth and back again, but it would give Martin time to ponder the job offer he’d got last week. He hoped Douglas didn’t needle him about the interview too much, but he’d only asked about it once on the long flight from Fitton to Flinders Island. He unbuckled his seat belt and donned his cap, ignoring Douglas’s smirk as they exited the cockpit to bid their passengers goodbye for ten days.

Once the four of them exited GERTI and locked her up for the night, Arthur led the way to immigration. Martin didn’t get how anyone could stay so bouncy after a flight to the other side of the world. He pulled out his phone and turned it on. The international plan cost an arm and a leg to maintain, but it was worth it.

6 NEW MESSAGES

Huffing in surprise, Martin slowed down a little to let the others go ahead and connected with the voicemail.

‘Hello, Martin, it’s Mum. I’m sure it’s nothing, but the angina seems to be acting up, so I’ve called Caitlin to take me to the doctor. It’s silly to make a call about something so insignificant, but you want me to keep in touch, so I’m keeping in touch. I’ll talk to you later, love.’ Martin deleted it.

‘Martin, it’s Caitlin. Mum just called, so I’m on my way over to fetch her. Call me.’

‘Erm, they’ve admitted her through A&E. I don’t know anything else right now, but I’ll keep you posted. Simon’s on his way.’

Martin stopped walking, not noticing that the others had gone ahead.

Simon this time. ‘Martin, come to Royal Berkshire Hospital if you’re in the area. We’re still waiting for word on Mum’s condition and how soon we can take her home.’

Simon again. ‘Come on, Martin,’ he growled.

Martin’s heart began to thump.

The last voicemail didn’t have words for a long moment, but he heard Caitlin breathing. ‘Erm … she, erm ….’

Martin held his breath.

‘Mum’s gone, Martin.’

Disconnect.

Martin didn’t understand. He pressed 1 to hear the message again.

‘Erm … she, erm …. Mum’s gone, Martin.’

Press 1.

‘Mum’s gone, Martin.’

Martin had hazy memories of that day, but for the rest of his life, he remembered that nothing had seemed as important as un-deleting the voicemail from his mother.

LIE DOWN IN GREEN PASTURES

_Two weeks later_

After missing the exit off the A361 and then going the wrong way once he managed to find the correct road, Martin finally found the church at Dibley. Mum had been born here, and he’d spent many school holidays at Gran’s house, but he hadn’t come here since Dad’s graveside service over a decade ago. He took his van out of gear, set the hand brake, and unfastened his seat belt. He reached for his thirteenth tissue and blew his nose before folding it over, spilling a little water from a bottle onto it, and rubbing his eyes gently. Any passing five year old would be able to see Martin had been crying for a while, but he was beyond caring about that. He hoped for solitude, not because of the no-doubt horrid impression he’d make on any passerby, but because he needed to say goodbye to his mother.

After landing in Fitton, he had flopped onto his mattress without hanging up his uniform or, worse, without even taking his trousers off. He knew something was wrong with him, but he couldn’t be arsed to care. Someone from MJN must have called the house, because one of the students knocked on his door and said she had a cup of tea for Martin, but he could not get out of bed. Around two in the afternoon, he felt a bit surprised; he’d felt sad and hopeless before — loads of times — but he’d never been so _tired_. Except for a couple of trips to the toilet and scooping water out of the tap to drink, he didn’t move all day. His phone needed charging, but he ignored it; he would receive dozens of calls soon enough. He hadn’t wanted to move today, either, but he finally dragged himself to the shower and out the door in the early afternoon. He’d neglected his mother too often in life and spent his first full day home crying like a child, but he couldn’t stay in his attic forever.

Martin reached into the glove box and pulled out the little greeting card Arthur had found in a duty-free shop in Darwin: a little cartoon plane flew across the top, releasing dozens of hearts into the pink sky below. Unable to find any words, Martin had left the inside blank. He hoped the words would come now. He’d felt wrung out and uncomfortably numb since the six voicemails that had brought everything to a screeching halt. With a deep breath, he got out of his van and walked toward the church and the cemetery beyond.

Martin had asked Simon and Caitlin to come with him, but Caitlin had gone back to work yesterday, and Simon had a council meeting today. He had legal business with them tomorrow and van jobs after that, so he’d decided to come alone. Bad enough that he’d been gone for two weeks, and they wouldn’t wait until he returned from the bottom of the world to hold the funeral or wake. He felt the lump of unease churn in his gut again as he thought it.

He peered around headstones and grave markers, looking for a tell-tale patch of dirt in the otherwise verdant cemetery. Simon said they’d buried Mum near Dad and Gran, so Martin wouldn’t have any trouble finding her. Birds sang as he walked between a flowering tree and the church, and he glanced at the window before doing a double take. Most churches had elaborate stained glass windows, but this one afforded him a view of the interior. He turned and took in the rest of the town to the west. It must look lovely at sunset, and then he looked down again. Find Mum. Well … find Gran. Mum wouldn’t have a marker yet. Where Gran was, Dad was, and where Dad was, Mum was. Martin clenched his hands, and the card crumpled slightly.

After a few wrong turns, he found his grandmother’s and father’s graves. He breathed a sigh of relief and stepped forward, but then he frowned. Not one but two grass-less patches of earth greeted him, one on either side of Dad. Gran’s marker didn’t help either, for Dad had been buried at her feet. Martin stood there for a long moment and felt his sinuses prickle. He couldn’t do anything right, could he? Flying happily to Tasmania as his mother died in hospital, letting Douglas do all the hard work over the several flights that followed, and now he didn’t even know where his mum was buried. He’d brought the card so he could leave it at Mum’s grave, but which was hers?

He sighed and let the tears flow for the umpteenth time that day as he sat at Dad’s feet.

‘Hello,’ called a far too cheery voice. Martin looked up.

The woman he saw looked vaguely familiar: short, rather fat, and very beautiful. She had dark hair, dark clothes, merry eyes, and a large silver cross pendant on her ample bosom. Her smile faded a bit and took on a sympathetic tinge when she got a good look at his face. She walked to his side. ‘Are you here for Mrs Crieff?’

‘Yes —’ Martin said, his voice squeaking, so he tried again. ‘Wendy Crieff.’ Despite his exhaustion, he got to his feet.

‘You must be Martin.’ He blinked, surprised, and she smiled. ‘Simon and Caitlin said you’d come, though they didn’t say when. I’m Geraldine Granger.’

He shook her hand. ‘You’re the Reverend Granger?’ Now that he thought about it, he was fairly certain this was the female vicar who had led the service when Gran died. Between his preoccupation with his studies at that time and the reason for the funeral itself, he’d barely noticed her.

‘Yes.’

‘Caitlin said your sermon at Mum’s funeral was the best she’d ever heard.’

The vicar smiled. ‘I prefer to keep it short and sweet for funerals. Draw out the eulogy if you must, but everyone’s arses start to ache on those hard pews after half an hour. Balance respect for the living with respect for the departed.’

Martin smiled a little, surprised at the vulgarity and her candour, but then he sobered. ‘Which one?’ he croaked, gesturing at the two patches of dirt.

Geraldine indicated the one on their right. ‘Simon said you live in Fitton?’

‘Yes.’

‘That’s a bit of a drive. Spend as much time as you need with your mum, then come over to the rectory for a cuppa. Both my husband and my verger make better tea than I do, but I’m good enough. And never underestimate the restorative powers of Dairy Milk. I keep one stashed for emergencies.’

Martin huffed half a laugh, but he couldn’t manage any more. She’d mentioned Mum’s funeral sermon, which he hadn’t heard because he hadn’t been where he belonged. He’d flown to the other side of the planet. Carolyn had needed him there, or everything would have fallen apart, so he’d stayed instead of coming home for his mother’s funeral like any normal person would have done. He let out a shuddering sigh.

The vicar’s voice softened as she added, ‘I can read your mum’s sermon to you, or I can listen while you talk. Or we don’t have to say anything at all.’ She dug her hand into her trouser pocket.

‘Thank you,’ Martin whispered.

She patted his shoulder, pressed a packet of tissues into his hand, and left him alone in the cemetery.

SHE RESTORETH MY SOUL

Martin hated to bother the vicar, but he needed the toilet and something to drink before he started home. Crying off and on for the entire drive to Dibley and over half an hour in the cemetery had taken a lot out of him. His entire face felt puffy, like his lips after kissing Theresa for half an hour last month. _Similar effects, but a much less pleasant cause_ , he mused. He knocked on the vicarage door and stared absently at the dirt under his fingernails.

Reverend Granger opened it a moment later. ‘Hey,’ she said quietly, taking in his tired, red visage. ‘There’s a loo just there,’ she said, pointing. ‘You’ll feel better if you splash some cool water on your face.’

‘Ta,’ he sighed, stepping into the house. Low beams crossed the ceiling above the entryway, but neither he nor the vicar needed to duck. Douglas would have had to, though. Martin stepped in, used the toilet, emptied the used tissues from his pocket into the bin, and rinsed his face after washing his hands. Once out of the loo, he looked around for his host. ‘Erm ….’

‘To your right.’

Martin walked into a small, functional kitchen with an industrial-quality, glass-door freezer set on one side. ‘Wow,’ he said. ‘That’s great, Vicar.’

She grinned. ‘You have to have priorities. And call me Geraldine. Grab the tea, would you? We ran out of loose leaf this morning, so it’s just the bags on the third shelf, I’m afraid. I can’t reach it. Harry forgot to get more down before he left for work, the lanky bastard.’

‘This might be the first time ever I’ve been the tall one,’ Martin quipped, straining for the box of teabags on the third shelf. The canister of tea on the fourth was too far out of reach. He handed her the box. ‘Harry’s your husband?’

‘Yes,’ she said, her smile widening. She looked almost radiant as she added, ‘We’ve been married six years.’

‘What does he do?’

She laughed. ‘An accountant. I made a joke on our first date about how dull accountants are, and then he turned out to be one.’

Martin grimaced. ‘Awkward.’

She poured the water into a pot and put teabags in to steep, then leaned against the counter. ‘If you don’t mind my asking, what kept you away from the service on Monday?’

‘Work,’ he muttered.

‘You don’t have to talk about it,’ she reminded him. ‘But you’re welcome to do so. It’s part of my job, you know.’

Martin sighed. He felt all cried out, so maybe he could manage it. ‘I’m a pilot. I have to keep my phone turned off during flights, and we were going to Tasmania. Well, Flinders Island, which is between Tasmania and the southern coast of Australia. Everything with Mum had happened during the flight. I called the night before, and she said she felt fine. I’m one of only two pilots in our airline, and most of the jobs Carolyn booked down there required both of us to be present. Douglas did most of the flying once I got the news.’ They were definitely even for Douglas losing the keys during the Ottery St Mary incident now. ‘Neither Carolyn nor I had enough money to get me a commercial flight home, and the plane we flew had to stay down there until our client was ready to return to England. I couldn’t get home, no matter what, and if I could have left, it would have ruined the company.’ He scowled, remembering that he might force MJN to fold anyway.

‘Working in a charter airline must be rather tricky work,’ Geraldine mused. She pulled a pair of mismatched mugs off a shelf and dumped a packet of biscuits on a plate. ‘Milk? Sugar?’

‘Milk, please.’

Geraldine added sugar to her tea and milk to his, and she nodded at the plate of biscuits. He followed her to a cosy sitting room with afghans slung over every piece of furniture a person could sit on. He liked it immediately. She sat at the end of the sofa nearest the armchair and fireplace, one leg curled under her. Martin lowered himself into the chair and took his mug from her, murmuring his thanks. He smiled a little at the words on it: LEAD ME NOT INTO TEMPTATION; I CAN FIND IT MYSELF.

‘You looked pretty happy when you said you’re a pilot.’

He nodded. ‘I’ve recently come to terms with the fact that that I’m not a very good pilot, but I’m loads better at it than I used to be. I love flying. I’ve wanted to be a pilot since I was a child, and now I’m the captain, and I can’t imagine doing anything else.’

‘How long have you been with your employer?’

‘Several years.’

‘Any favourite destinations?’ she asked, picking up a biscuit.

Martin tilted his head from side to side a few times. ‘It’s not where we fly to that I love, it’s just … flying. Though some pilot lounges and two-star hotels are nicer than others.’

She grimaced. ‘I see your point. You do what you love for a living. I’m sure you’ve had to work hard, but I can tell just from looking at you that it’s been worth it.’

She was a priest. It was her job not to tell anyone what she heard. He hadn’t told anyone but Arthur about the Swiss Air job offer, because everyone he could tell either had a vested interest in the outcome or would foist their opinion on him whether he wanted it or not. He took a swig of tea and set the mug down, then clenched his hands. ‘I … I don’t get paid.’

Geraldine leaned forward, eyebrows raised. ‘Sorry?’

Now that he’d started, he found it easier to talk. He sighed and explained, ‘The van outside, that’s my real job. I don’t get paid to fly, and between Carolyn booking every flight or day on standby she can, and me working on the side as a one-man removal firm, I don’t have much time for a life outside of that. I can’t charge much for the removals, either, because I sometimes have to cancel so I can fly. But I got a job offer from Swiss Air just before we went to Tasmania, and I could leave both MJN and the van behind.’ He glanced at Geraldine, expecting her to tell him that only a crazy person would hesitate, and he should take the job.

She sipped her tea. ‘But you’re hesitant.’

The rest came out in a gush. ‘Carolyn said MJN would fold without me. She isn’t exactly the best boss, but I’ve learnt a lot working for her, and she lets me fly. As long as there’s MJN, she has a chance of getting out of debt, but if I leave, she can’t afford to pay anyone else to fly for her, and no one else is daft enough to work for free. Douglas and Arthur would be unemployed, and Arthur loves flying and helping people and being a steward more than anything. Douglas is pretty sure no one else will hire him as a pilot because he’s almost sixty, and he doesn’t have the best work history. So if I leave MJN, I’m leaving two people destitute and a third heartbroken. Arthur’s a clot, and he’s … well, he’s not the brightest person you’ve ever met, but he is the nicest person you’ll ever meet.’

‘Does Arthur have relatives in Dibley, too?’ Geraldine asked with a smile.

Martin shrugged and sipped his tea.

She nudged the plate of biscuits toward him, and he took one. ‘I can’t advise you, of course. I don’t know everything about your life. If you believe in God, you’re probably praying already. Sometimes talking about it can help you find clarity in your own mind, and then it becomes a matter of asking God if what you’ve settled on is a good idea or not. Sometimes it is, sometimes it isn’t. I think that works better than asking God to manipulate events or people to suit us, though occasionally he does that, too.’ She grinned. ‘Or at least, it can seem like it at the time. Speaking of which, do you have a girlfriend? Or boyfriend?’

He smiled a little at his tea. ‘Sort of. I told Theresa about Mum but not the job offer, and she’s planning to visit later this month. She’s my … well, she’s not my girlfriend, exactly … not that I don’t want her to be, but we only met in January, and she lives in Lichtenstein while I’m in Fitton, so it’s not easy for us to spend time together, so we just …’ He frowned, trying to describe it.

He heard the vicar chuckle, and he looked up. He had frequently seen an identical smile on Douglas’s face. ‘Just … shag?’

‘No,’ he cried, and his face heated furiously. ‘I mean, maybe someday … I’d rather like that, but we haven’t known each other that long. I’m not ready for that, and even if I was, I’d have to make sure I respected her wishes, too, and we haven’t discussed it.’

Her smile didn’t change. ‘I knew I liked you.’

Martin blinked, surprised. ‘Really?’

‘Of course. Does Theresa know about the airline job?’

‘No. I don’t want anyone trying to make my mind up for me.’

She grimaced a little. ‘I see your point. And you don’t want to tell Carolyn or Douglas either, do you? Would they try to keep you here?’

‘Actually, Carolyn encouraged me to apply, and Douglas helped me practice for the interview. I think she’s resigned to the idea of going out of business. I don’t know about Douglas, though. He’s very clever, and he always seems to land on his feet, but he seems worried.’

‘Do you have any objection to asking him what he would do if you left?’

Martin finished his tea, thinking it through. She ate another biscuit and let him take his time. ‘I suppose not,’ he finally said. ‘I just —’ He felt the tears start yet again. ‘I wish I’d told Mum before I left. About the job. She always said she was proud of me, but Simon’s on the council, and she always went on about how important his job was. It’s silly, but I just wanted to make her as proud of me as she was of him and Caitlin.’

‘Do you think she wasn’t as proud because of how she acted or because of how you see yourself and your brother?’

He didn’t know. He just wiped his face.

‘She knows now,’ Geraldine said quietly. ‘You work hard, and you’ve accomplished a lot. Believe me, she is proud of you.’

Tears rolled down his face, and she took her time finishing her tea. Then she put her mug on the coffee table and propped her face against her fist as she gazed levelly at him. ‘Sometimes we go into a situation where we are doing something for someone else, but it ends up hurting us. My second year in Dibley, I got asked to Christmas dinner by three groups of friends, and the way they phrased their invitations, I just couldn’t bring myself to say no. Then a fourth friend came by to take me to his house after I’d come home after the first three. And he served tripe.’ They both winced. ‘I was sick halfway to New Year, but every one of them came by to thank me for being part of their day. So it was nice, but very uncomfortable. A lot depends on what matters to you. Taking care of yourself is important, especially when you’ve already worked so hard to get where you are now. Weigh what you might gain versus what you might lose, because no matter what you choose, you will lose something.’

He nodded slowly, letting her words sink in, and she finished her tea.

‘And if Arthur likes helping people, he could always go in for a job in the clergy.’

‘Oh, Lord,’ Martin said, laughing with surprise. It was the first time he’d really laughed since hearing the six voicemails less than two weeks before. ‘I can just imagine the sermons.’ Saint Mary and the otters, for a start.

‘In that case, you don’t need much in the way of brains to be a —’

Three knocks at the front door preceded the sound of it opening. ‘It’s only me,’ announced a woman’s voice, and a blonde a little older than Martin breezed into the room. She stopped short at the sight of him.

Martin looked at Geraldine, who wrinkled her nose a little. ‘Speaking of vergers. Alice, this is Martin Crieff. We held his mum’s service on Monday. Martin, Alice Horton.’

Alice beamed. ‘Oh, hello,’ she said, extending her hand.

He remembered his manners and stood, shaking hands. ‘Hello.’

Alice flumped onto the empty end of the sofa. ‘Your gran was my favourite person,’ she started, her big, slightly vacant-looking eyes staring at Martin as he slowly sat down again. While he drew breath to reply, she ploughed on. ‘I’m sorry about your mum. Why weren’t you here for the funeral?’

Martin’s heart dropped, and he took a deep breath. ‘I was out of town.’

Alice looked sympathetic. ‘Work?’

‘Yes.’

‘You must have important work,’ she said without a trace of irony or malice. ‘Nothing would have kept me away from my mum’s funeral, and the vicar here did such a lovely service. I know when my mum died I cried and cried, and I couldn’t do much of anything for weeks.’

Geraldine’s smile grew brittle. ‘And the church never ran so well.’ Martin saw her glare and gesture at Alice, though she tried to hide both from Martin.

‘I had my husband and children, but I never knew my dad, so I felt like an orphan. You know … abandoned and alone. So I know what you’re going through.’

Martin felt blindsided. He hadn’t thought about that. _Orphan._ He looked at the clock on the desk opposite him, though he could barely see it through the tears building up again. ‘Is that the time?’ he asked, standing up. ‘I have some things to do at home before I see my brother and sister tomorrow. Legal stuff, sorting out the estate and Mum’s things, you know.’ He dreaded it, but Caitlin said it had to be done as soon as possible so they didn’t have to pay for another month on the house Mum had rented. Simon insisted that Martin use his van to do the manual labour, since he had little money to contribute to the funeral and legal process. ‘Thank you for the tea and the chat, Vicar. It’s time I headed home. Nice to meet you, Ms Horton.’ He took his mug to the kitchen and put it in the sink. _Abandoned and alone._

Geraldine followed and pressed a few more tissues in his hand. ‘Sorry. I had a meeting with the Bishop of Oxford this morning, and I asked Alice yesterday to come over after I got home. Will you be all right?’

‘Fine. Fine … I’m always fine.’

Her face told him that she didn’t believe a word he said. ‘Fine.’ Before she opened the front door, she said, ‘Look, you’re under a lot of pressure. Grief muddles your ability to make sound decisions. I know you can’t put off the airline job offer for long, so I’d suggest you ask the advice of someone you trust, even if you think they’d be biased.’ Martin nodded numbly, but she didn’t open the door. ‘When you come back to visit your mother, feel free to stop by. I always have tea and biscuits. And Curly-Wurlies. Though I often have Alice.’ Her rueful expression turned into a smirk. ‘Unless all the lights are out. That usually means I’m having Harry.’

He managed a watery smile, and she let him out.

_Orphan._

THEY COMFORT ME

He passed through the cemetery on the way to his van. He paused at the trio of graves again for about half an hour, the word _orphan_ taking up most of the space in his mind. He absently noted the sound of a car behind him and happy voices, then silence.

Martin got into his van and checked his phone. 5:22 pm, no texts or voicemails. He must have spent more time in the vicarage than he thought. He put his key in the ignition and heard the engine sputter. ‘Oh,’ he breathed in horror, ‘please not today.’ He tried again, and the van made a valiant effort, but after two minutes of it grumbling at Martin and Martin grumbling at it, he gave up. ‘Damn,’ he muttered, and he leaned back against the head rest. ‘God, don’t I have enough to deal with?’ He wasn’t sure if it was a prayer or a rhetorical question. He sighed; since he had addressed God, he’d get the same result.

Now what? He hadn’t been able to afford the breakdown cover for the AA when it was due earlier this year. Perhaps Geraldine could recommend a garage, and he would just have to hope that the repair wouldn’t cost too much. He took a deep breath, got out of his van, and returned to the vicarage. He’d just stepped into the street when the door opened. A frankly besotted Geraldine walked out, followed by a tall, thin man with dark hair who looked just as besotted with her. Then she noticed him. ‘Martin?’

‘My van won’t start,’ he said, miserable. ‘Can you recommend a garage?’

She looked up at her companion, presumably her husband Harry, then she nodded. ‘It’s just around the corner and a bit up the street from where you’re parked. No sense in getting the AA in. We can just push it.’

He didn’t want to admit that he wasn’t covered. ‘I don’t want to put you through any trouble —’

Harry stuck out a hand. ‘Harry Kennedy. I’m the vicar’s wife.’ Martin blinked, and Geraldine just grinned as Harry and Martin shook hands. ‘Lead thou me on,’ Harry said to her.

After a bit of good-natured bickering on Geraldine and Harry’s part, she ended up in the driver’s seat and steered as Harry and Martin pushed the van to the garage. A tall man with a full, grey beard stopped and gaped. Martin peeked through the back window and saw her in silhouette against the orange-tipped clouds outside the windscreen; she waved like the Queen in a motorcade. ‘Look,’ he said to Harry.

Harry obeyed, laughing even as a thin sheen of sweat formed on his brow. ‘God, I love that woman.’

The road led up a slight rise, so Martin couldn’t spend more of his breath on laughing for the next few minutes. Geraldine finally set the hand brake and hopped out, calling for Bernie. Martin and Harry followed her into the garage.

Bernie — Bernadette, given the feminine figure under her coveralls — looked under the bonnet as Martin described the sound the van had made while he’d tried to start it. After several minutes, she looked up and said, ‘It’s your distributor cap.’

Martin nodded mutely, and his heart thumped. ‘How much?’

‘Seein’ as you’re a friend of the vicar —’

‘Yes, a very old friend. He was my niece’s boyfriend for two years, and he helped me move. Her. Helped her move, I mean. Twice,’ Geraldine babbled, gesturing to the ICARUS REMOVALS emblazoned on the side of the van.

‘You have a niece?’ Bernie asked, wiping the grease off her hands with a rag.

Geraldine’s smile froze for a second. ‘Yes … Hermione.’

‘Right.’ Bernie turned to Martin. ‘I’ll only charge you for the part and shipping. Shouldn’t be more than forty quid.’ Martin’s breath gushed out in relief. ‘But I don’t have one in stock for a van like this. Need to get it sent out from the wholesaler outside London. Should be here tomorrow, though.’

‘Right. Thank you,’ he replied. ‘I might not be able to get back until the day after, though.’ Bernie nodded and turned to a computer set on a tall desk as Martin thought furiously. He had to get back to Fitton tonight. To Geraldine, he asked, ‘Is there a bus service that goes through Dibley?’

‘It won’t get you out of the village,’ she admitted. ‘And Jim isn’t the most reliable driver, anyway.’

Caitlin had her children in Wokingham, and Simon lived twenty miles further south than that. Martin had papers in his attic they needed tomorrow, so he had to get back to Fitton tonight. He winced and searched his contacts list. Arthur would be more cheerful about it, but he’d mentioned having plans. After hesitating briefly, he pressed Douglas’s name and the Talk button.

‘Hello?’

‘Douglas, it’s Martin.’

‘Hello, Martin.’ Douglas sounded almost sympathetic. Martin hated it, but he would take any help offered, even if it was motivated by sympathy. ‘How are you holding up?’

‘I’m … better than my van,’ he admitted.

‘I see. Where are you?’

‘Dibley,’ he said, grimacing.

‘I see.’

‘I came to visit Mum’s grave, and now my van won’t start. The vicar and her wife — her husband, I mean — helped me get it to the garage, but it won’t be fixed until tomorrow. My family are going over some legal issues tomorrow, so I need to get some stuff from my flat. There’s no place to hire a car in Dibley. I can do that in Fitton before heading down to Wokingham in the morning.’

‘Right. This book was dull, anyway. Give me an address, and I’ll be there in an hour or so. You’ll have to put up with opera on the drive back, though.’

‘I’m not daft enough to complain about the music when you’re doing me a favour, Douglas.’ How did Douglas exasperate him so easily? He looked at the front of the garage. ‘I’m at Walker’s Car Repair at number forty —’

‘Hang on,’ Harry said, grabbing the phone. ‘Douglas? This is Harry, the vicar’s wife. You can pick up Martin in the Haughty Badger Tavern on Wentworth Street in Dibley. It’s just off the A361.’

Martin looked at Geraldine, who just looked delighted. ‘Bet you wish you had a wife like that,’ she said.

‘Erm … your Harry isn’t my type, but having someone who’s willing to face down a dragon is comforting.’

‘Yes, number fourteen. Thank you.’ Harry rang off and handed the phone to Martin. ‘Come on. They have the best cottage pie in Oxfordshire.’

A TABLE BEFORE ME

Too tired to argue, Martin allowed Geraldine and Harry to frog march him to the pub and sit him down at a table. ‘What will you have? Bitter? Lager?’

‘Erm, Guinness, if they’ve got it. Or any stout, really.’

Harry nodded and went to the bar. Geraldine smiled. ‘He’ll order dinner while he’s up there, too.’

Martin stood up. ‘Actually, I’d planned to eat at home.’ He could afford a single drink, but not food on top of that. He turned to find Harry but instead came face to face with a bald, older man.

‘Good evening, Vicar.’ He looked expectantly at Martin.

‘David, this is Martin Crieff. We held services for his mother on Monday. Martin, this is David Horton, head of the parish council. Sit down, David, and you can pay the bill at the end of the night.’

David seemed to consider it for a moment before taking the seat next to Martin’s. He gestured, and Martin slowly resumed his seat. ‘I’m sorry for your loss, Martin.’

‘Thank you.’

‘I knew Wendy from primary school before my parents sent me to Eton. If she grew up as full of life as her mother, she must have been a wonderful mother herself.’

Martin tried to smile. ‘Mum described herself as her mother’s opposite, actually. She didn’t resent Gran, but I think she wanted to follow her own path. For one, she was a very good cook.’

David chuckled. ‘Ah, yes. Your grandmother’s concoctions were the stuff of legend, but not in a good way.’

Geraldine hummed. ‘The Queen of Cordon Bleurgh.’ Martin smiled, and she continued, ‘But she could play the organ like no one I’ve seen, and she was one of the most generous souls I ever knew. She was the Easter Bunny in the village for years.’

‘What do you do, Martin?’

‘I’m a pilot,’ Martin replied, feeling that familiar curl of happiness in his chest as he said it. He glanced at Geraldine — she knew he didn’t make a living at it; would she call him out on it? — and she smiled encouragingly. ‘A captain, actually, in a small charter airline.’

Harry set the Guinness in front of Martin, what appeared to be whisky in front of David and Geraldine, and a glass of wine at his own place. He must have seen David join them, then. He raised his glass. ‘To absent loved ones,’ he said quietly.

Martin raised his glass and drank to his mother. After a few swallows, he asked, ‘Easter Bunny?’

Eager to tell the story, David leaned forward with a smile.

GOODNESS AND MERCY

Martin still wasn’t sure how Geraldine had bamboozled him into eating a meal he knew he wouldn’t have to pay for. Almost an hour later, he still felt a little light-headed, and David had already left after paying the entire bill. It was the longest he’d gone this week without crying, for which he felt both grateful and guilty. He slumped a little in his chair, staring at his empty plate.

Geraldine, who had watched him like a hawk, noted the change in his mood and murmured in her husband’s ear. Harry smiled, kissed her neck — Martin looked away — shook Martin’s hand, and joined a small old man at the bar. Geraldine sat back in her chair. ‘David’s much softer since he became a grandfather,’ she said. ‘What I first arrived in the village, he was a clench-arsed tightwad who only cared about other landed gentry and keeping us plebs off the golf course. Seems like he’s more interested in sharing what he has these last few years.’

Martin smiled. ‘Perhaps he needed a good example.’

She smirked. ‘That, too.’

‘O Captain, my Captain,’ intoned a familiar voice behind Martin.

Martin looked up. To his relief, Douglas appeared well rested after nearly nonstop flying for two weeks. ‘Geraldine, this is my co-pilot, Douglas Richardson. Douglas, the Reverend Geraldine Granger.’

Douglas quirked an eyebrow at Martin’s empty plate. ‘Well. Has Sir actually eaten something other than pasta or a jacket potato?’

Geraldine, determined to get into an eyebrow-raising contest with Douglas, deployed her first volley. ‘Perhaps Sir’s first officer would care to join us?’

Not knowing who would win a battle of wits but terrified of getting caught in the crossfire, Martin stood up. ‘Erm —’

‘No, thank you,’ Douglas said. ‘Are you ready, Martin?’

‘Yes,’ he replied, relieved. He offered his hand to Geraldine. ‘I really can’t thank you enough for everything you’ve done for me today. And for everything you’ve done for my family this week.’

She got up. ‘I have some business at the church this evening. Would you two gentlemen walk me over?’

Martin flicked a glance at Douglas, who shrugged. ‘Stretching my legs can’t hurt after sitting in the car for forty minutes.’ He gestured for her to precede them.

Once outside, she looped her arm through Martin’s as she addressed Douglas. ‘Martin and I had a chance to talk earlier. He told me of your kindness to him this week, taking most of the flights when he was forced to be on the plane.’

Douglas looked a bit taken aback. ‘I wasn’t about to let an impaired pilot fly,’ he said, but then he looked thoughtful. ‘Distraction is dangerous in a cockpit. Besides, he did more than his fair share when my last wife and I parted ways.’

Martin blinked. Douglas didn’t even sound resentful when he said it.

She smiled as they left Wentworth Street to walk towards the church. The nearly-full moon bathed them in silver light. They heard music ahead, and when Douglas lifted his head, interested, she said, ‘Choir practice.’

Martin could only hear snatches of music blended in with a passing car and a solitary bird’s trill, but the music grew stronger the closer they got to the church. They could only see the steeple from here, rising above the cottages along the street. His mum had loved to sing, though she hadn’t been very good at it. Martin’s singing was like his flying: competent was the best he could hope for.

‘Martin,’ Geraldine said, ‘Will you come back tomorrow for your van?’

‘It depends on how long my business with Simon and Caitlin lasts. It might be the day after.’

‘You’re welcome for tea, you know. Any time, not just when you’re picking up your van. In fact, I’ll be insulted if you don’t stop by the vicarage to at least say hi.’

‘Thank you,’ Martin said. He hadn’t expected to find such kindness here today, and he felt a bit overwhelmed. ‘Thank you.’

As they rounded the corner, the church came into view. Light from inside shone through the small stained glass windows set high on the side wall, and Martin heard the choir more coherently. They paused in the middle of a phrase, then started again, a high young voice singing alone before the choir joined it. Geraldine paused and quickly plucked a handful of flowers from her garden. ‘You came to see your mother, but she’s not your only family here. Everything you heard about your gran today was not a hundredth of what I know about Letitia Cropley, but most of those stories would curl your hair even more.’ Douglas chuckled, and she handed the flowers to Martin. ‘Douglas, do you like music? Our choir’s beginnings were rather murky, but I think we have a good group of singers now. Martin, we’ll see you in a few minutes.’ She led Douglas into the church.

Martin returned to the cemetery, separating the flowers into three small posies. He’d said everything he needed to to his gran and dad years ago, so he simply placed two of the bunches at the bases of their headstones. He crouched at the unmarked grave, laying the flowers at the head, and listened to the choir:

_The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures. He leadeth me beside the still waters._

_Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me, you will comfort me. You are with me, you will comfort me._

_Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever._

‘Goodbye, Mum.’

He heard familiar footsteps behind him and wiped his eyes, though Douglas had seen him cry a few dozen times in the cockpit in the last several days. ‘Thank you for coming for me.’

‘You’re welcome.’

He stood, and they left the cemetery. When they got back to Wentworth Street and Douglas’s Lexus, Martin took a deep breath. ‘Douglas … if I did get a job offer from Swiss Air and decided to take it, would you be okay?’

**Author's Note:**

>  _The Vicar of Dibley_ and _Cabin Pressure_ belong to the BBC and their respective writers and producers. The song quoted at the end was written by Howard Goodall, with lyrics (obviously) from the 23rd Psalm. It's available at YouTube [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lAZN1oVir5A).
> 
> Canon compliant to “Yverdon-les-Bains” and “The Vicar in White,” and I have tried to avoid questions raised in the CP cliffhanger. As I post this, “Zurich” has been recorded but not broadcast.
> 
> Many thanks to Yalublyutebya and Mom for their feedback, encouragement, and suggestions. Remaining mistakes are mine.


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